


Decadence of a Defector

by TheMourningMadam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:02:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam
Summary: In the midst of a War, Draco and Hermione both have the aching desire to love and be loved. Despite her better judgment and unable to deny her attraction to the wizard, Hermione allows just that to take place.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Decadence of a Defector

Hermione Granger sat at a long wooden table, surrounded by twenty other members of the Order of the Phoenix. A celebration was underway, as they had just pulled off one of the biggest victories of the War thus far—killing Voldemort's beloved Nagini and three of his highest-ranking Death Eaters.

Harry had long suspected that the snake was a Horcrux, and with four of Voldemort's soul-infested baubles out there in the world, at locations unseen and in hands unknown, the Order had devised a complicated plan to capture and kill the snake that involved Polyjuicing Death Eaters and drugging the Dark Lord's morning tea.

"A job well done, Harry," Kingsley Shacklebolt told the raven-haired boy, clapping a hand on his back.

"I can't take all the credit for this. Our very own coat-turning defector brewed the napping potion," he remarked, his grin splitting his face as he gestured toward where Draco Malfoy was seated at the end of the table.

Malfoy, his arm in a makeshift sling and bandages, lifted one hand in acknowledgment of the praise and nodded in his direction. "Let's just be thankful I was able to get my hands on enough night-blooming oleander to brew the potion. And that house elves are immune to the poison."

Malfoy had brewed a complex potion, laced with just enough of the deadly oleander to induce a coma that could last up to twenty-four hours but not enough to kill the seemingly immortal monster. He knew that Voldemort would Imperio his house elves into sampling any and all food or beverage brought to him, paranoid that another Death Eater might turn his back on the ranks.

Hermione stared down the table at the blond wizard, as a raucous noise sounded around her, the others celebrating the monumental fortune they had come into. The witch found herself staring at him quite often during their gatherings. In the six months since his parents had been murdered and he had "turned-coat" and joined the Order, she had gotten to know more about him than she had ever thought she would in the six years they had inhabited the same school.

She found Draco Malfoy to be incredibly intelligent, able to keep up with her regardless of the subject matter. He was quick witted and snarky, his sense of humor typically dry and dark—often delivered deadpanned and straight faced. His moods ranged from brooding and angst-ridden to downtrodden and broken to mildly tolerable prat. He challenged her at every turn, keeping her on her toes, though she suspected he did it more out of fun and amusement than because he truly disagreed with her sentiments and thoughts.

The pair worked together some nights in the potions lab and she found Malfoy quite capable of brewing elixirs and draughts that some apothecarians and potions masters could only hope to brew one day. His skill and deft ability in the lab reminded her so of his godfather, who had been ruthlessly murdered by Voldemort when he found out about his betrayal after Dumbledore's death. The blond wizard had so much untapped potential and she hoped they would live through the War and she could see it come to fruition. His unique ideas and carefully thought-out propositions should be shared with the world, to better wizarding kind.

If Hermione were honest with herself, and she often wasn't anymore, she would admit that she was starting to feel something for the strangely intriguing ex-Death Eater. During the nights they spent awake in the close quarters of his labs, stirring and chopping and crushing ingredients—all at his behest and instruction—she had grown fond of him. Losing everything he had in this world—his parents to the Dark Lord's wand, his home to the Dark Lord's army and his pride to the Dark Lord's sick pleasure—he had changed.

He was still sure of his wealth of knowledge and his abilities with magic, but he was no longer arrogant. He had humbled quite a bit, coming to the Order with nothing but a broken wand and a mutilated forearm. His vaults had been cleared by his proclaimed master, his possessions seized. Malfoy had nothing in this world but the kindness of his one-time foes and the thoughts in his head and he seemed to make note of this right away.

Malfoy had proven himself time and again, always at the forefront of the battles the Order waged, bloodthirsty and seeking vengeance. Hermione appreciated and feared his ferocity in equal parts, his dark edge tantalizing her in an unexpected way.

From across the room, his eyes looked up from where his fingertips drew lazy circles across the wooden tabletop and met hers. His lips quirked slightly at one corner as he dragged his free hand through his hair and pushed back from the table. "You're leaving already?" Harry asked him as Mrs. Weasley brought out trays of food and Charlie brandished pints to drink.

"Yeah. I'm a bit knackered, I think I'll head back to my quarters," the blond replied, giving Harry an awkward pat in the shoulder as he walked out of the room.

As Hermione watched his back retreat down the hall, she made a decision that would ultimately change the course of her life, though she had no way of knowing this as she rose from the table as well. Ron looked up at her from his seat, his arm draped languidly over Lavender Brown's shoulders. "You going to bed so soon, 'Mione? The celebration's just begun!"

"I'm not in much of a celebratory mood. I think I'll just read for a bit. Maybe try to figure out where the next Horcrux might be," she told him, ducking her head of curls as she quickly skirted her fellow Order members and made her way out of the dining hall.

The Order had acquisitioned a compound of sorts when Kingsley had stated that they needed a headquarters away from the Ministry and Grimmauld Place. The compound was protected by more spells and curses than Hermione could shake her wand at, completely invisible to the naked eye even as it stood on a sizable parcel of land in the highlands of Scotland. Three long buildings were arranged in the shape of a triangle. One side of the triangle housed their living quarters and Malfoy's potion's lab; the second housed the dining hall, kitchens and a small greenhouse where they grew the necessary herbs for Malfoy's potions; and the third side a large open area for staging duels to sharpen both their offensive and defensive techniques. In the center, a courtyard, where Malfoy had planted a weeping willow and used magic to grow it to full size within months. A bench sat alongside it, hidden in the branches.

The only flaw to the compound was that, should one wish to walk instead of apparate, they had to cross the courtyard to get to another building. Hermione stepped out of the dining hall and stood under the aluminum awning as rain pelted the earth around her. She hadn't seen it rain so hard in years, the sky a dark and tumultuous swirl of clouds. Her eyes stopped scanning the weeping heavens above and instead a flash of movement in front of her caught her eye.

Malfoy was slowly walking across the courtyard and it appeared he had not bothered to cast a drying spell, if his soaked clothing was any indication. His face turned up toward the skies for a brief spell, as though he were savoring the moment, like a man being baptized and cleansed by the cool waters of the Jordan. Hermione watched as he slowly made his way toward the entrance to the living quarters.

Without hesitating, she hopped out into the courtyard, a spring in her step as she watched Malfoy's white blond hair—darkened to a muter shade of blond with rain water—disappear into the building. The rain _was_ refreshing as it washed over her, soaking her through to the bone within mere seconds. She stepped into the living quarters and was greeted by a warm commons area filled with second-hand overstuffed couches and a tattered area rug, mismatched side tables and a roaring fireplace.

Malfoy's room was down the corridor to the left and hers to the right. She paused for a brief moment before tiptoeing down the hallway to the left toward the last door. All of the doors were closed and with everyone in the dining hall celebrating, the living spaces were quiet. Hermione stood in front of the last oaken door, placing a hand and her ear to the wood to listen inside. "You really shouldn't creep in dark corridors," came the amused drawl of the Slytherin behind her.

Hermione jumped, and her hand flew up, ready to strike him before her brain caught up with her body. "Merlin, Draco! You scared me half to death!" she screeched, lowering her fist and clutching her heart.

The wizard crossed his arms as best he could with one in a sling and raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing down in the men's quarters, Granger?"

What a fine damn question _that_ was. What _was_ she doing creeping in front of his door in the dark? "I, er—I watched you walking in the rain."

A smiled tugged at his lips. "Yes. And it looks like you didn't bother to cast a drying spell either," he told her, tugging at a sopping curl.

Hermione's heart started to race as she realized how foolish she must look. Malfoy unfurled the towel he had been in the bathroom retrieving when she slipped past and wrapped it around her shoulders. He shook his head at her antics and opened his door, holding it open behind him. "Are you coming?" he asked her, his tone much more playful than she could ever remember it.

She padded into his room, both of them leaving a trail of water in their wakes. Malfoy flicked his wand toward the fireplace and it roared to life before he stowed his wand on his nightstand. Looking around his room, which she had only been in when he had first defected, she noted that it was barren and empty. Tidy to a fault. He had one chest of drawers, his bed was neatly made with a quilt that Mrs. Weasley had stitched just for him, there was a muggle alarm clock on the nightstand, a tidy desk. His bookshelf held only a few books, but she knew this was because the majority of his reading material was kept in the laboratory.

Malfoy began removing his sling, the buckles holding it together tinkling as they jumped apart. Once his arm was free, he stretched it out before him, wincing when it hurt. Hermione glanced at his forearm and then turned her face away. He had appeared on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place six months prior, when the Order was still operating out of there fairly regularly. His arm had been badly mutilated, his Dark Mark carved completely out. They never knew how it had happened, but the solution, one Malfoy himself had thought up, was to cover the area in mermaid scales.

Now healed in brilliant shades of iridescent turquoise, violet and fuchsia, it was smooth to the touch and shined in the sunlight. Even with the imperfect and ragged lines where his flesh had been carved away, he looked happier and lighter just to have the stigma off of his arm completely. As he dragged his shirt over his head and hung it on a hook from the mantle of the fireplace, he watched her. Hermione could feel his gaze. "You can ask now. I might even tell you the truth."

She turned to look at him and saw that there was no malice on his features, no disdain etched in the lines of his face. He was openly staring at her, challenging her to ask the question he knew haunted her. "What happened then?"

He looked at her a moment longer, kneading his bandaged shoulder through the gauze. Hermione's eyes raked over his bare chest and abdomen. His porcelain skin was marred with gashes and crudely healed wounds, a long, raised gash nearly cutting his torso in two as it ran from his right shoulder obliquely toward his left hip under the belt of his trousers. Malfoy said nothing for a pause, but then he spoke slowly and clearly. "I cut it out myself."

The witch drew in a gasp. She had known he had suffered immensely under someone's hand but had no idea that it had been his own. "Why?" was all she could think to ask.

"The Dark Lord murdered my parents. I had dreamt of running away, leaving the Death Eaters and joining the Order for years. His brutalization of my family finally gave me the jumpstart I needed to make it a reality. But how could I come to you all with that—that _reminder_ emblazoned into my flesh? How could I live my own life, seeing the Mark every day, a constant reminder of seeing my mother's throat slit and draining onto her prized roses?" he asked forcefully, his voice low.

Her teeth began to chatter and Hermione was unsure if it was from the chill in the air or from his admission. He went to his chest of drawers and retrieved two pairs of soft pajama bottoms and a jumper. "You might as well get out of your wet clothing. You're dripping all over my floor."

She took the bottoms and the jumper from him, wrinkling her brow. "I could have got my own clothing. My room isn't far."

He hummed at the back of his throat as he turned and began unbuckling his belt, the sound making her heart thrum ever quicker. "You don't want to be alone. If you did, you wouldn't have followed me to my room and then stood there freezing your arse off whilst wearing soaking wet clothing," he commented over his shoulder.

His trousers fell about his feet and he slid his hands into the tops of his pants, pulling them down with some difficulty as they clung to his body in their sopping state. Hermione's eyes grew wide as she tried to avert them elsewhere. She had seen his bum on more than one occasion as she had cleaned incisions and checked for wounds. His, Harry's, Ron's, Charlie's. But he was actively disrobing right in front of her for no reason other than to change his clothing.

He pulled the warm and dry pajamas up and tied them loosely around his hips, turning toward her. "You can go to your room and change or you can get over yourself and change here. But please stop dripping everywhere."

Malfoy went and made himself busy at his bookcase, pulling a tome and flipping through it as though he were in search of something. Hermione took that as her cue to undress quickly behind his back. He was right, for what it was worth. She did not feel much like being alone, reliving the horrors of the last two days. Once she was redressed in his dry clothing, she hung her items next to his on a hook, using a drying spell to take the majority of the water out of the fabric.

"Are you decent?" he asked upon hearing her movements fall to silence.

Hermione ran a hand over the jumper—her bra was shrunken and hidden from his view in the pocket of her jeans. She thought, given her tiny stature and petite body, that she was hidden well enough in his larger shirt. "As decent as I'll ever be," she told him, lifting the shirt to inhale his scent.

"You look good in my old House colors, Granger," he teased, roughly dragging a towel over his hair to dry it.

She smiled as she looked down at his too-big clothing and he sat on the bed, his back against the headboard. Malfoy raised an eyebrow in her direction as his lips fell into an effortlessly sexy smile. "I don't bite, Granger," he whispered, patting the bed next to him, "Unless, of course, you want me to."

"You're not as clever as you _think_ you are," she told him, scooting up the bed to sit next to him.

"I disagree wholeheartedly, love," he replied, and her entire body went ablaze at his term of endearment.

Malfoy leaned over and slid open the drawer on his nightstand to reveal a full bottle of elf wine. "I'm not much on celebrating, but I'm big on drinking. Would you care for some?" he asked, using his wand to uncork the bottle and sending a chilling charm over it.

Hermione finished drying her hair with magic and took the bottle from him, relishing the sweet taste of the alcohol. He tipped his head back and drank for a good long moment, downing it like a seasoned alcoholic. "Tell me," he began, handing the bottle back to her, "what exactly were you intending to do to me when I surprised you in the corridor?"

Hermione thought back to her raised fist, ready to strike whoever had snuck up behind her. "I was going to punch you," she admitted with a small laugh.

"Punch me?" he mused, his smirk much too gleeful. "With that weak semblance of a fist."

"I broke your nose once," she reminded him, a smug grin settling over her face as she watched him wince at the memory and touch the faint scar along the bridge of his nose.

"I was thirteen," he countered. "What would you have done to me as a full-grown man?"

There was something underlying in his tone, something she could not quite figure out. He stared down at her for a moment, watching her sip at the wine before he slid off the bed and came around to her side. "Stand up."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she recoiled away from him. "I beg your pardon?"

He took the bottle from her hands and set it on the desk and then pulled both of her hands until her feet hit the floor. "What are you doing?" she questioned harshly, feeling scandalized that he was touching her in any way in the privacy of his room.

"I'm going to teach you how to fight. Properly," Malfoy told her, a quick roll of his eyes showing his irritation at her questioning.

"I know how to fight. I could beat you in a duel any day," she retorted, her voice raising an octave as she poked his bare chest just above the Sectumsempra scar.

"First off, princess," he began, his face losing its playfulness as he grabbed her wrist, "do not poke me. And I would have you bound and on your back before you even knew you were in danger."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and raised her chin in defiance. The sly grin began to reappear on his face once more, his moods ever changing. "And I'm not talking about teaching you to fight magically. I'm talking about defending yourself the muggle way if ever the need arises."

"Why wouldn't I have my wand?" she asked, and let out a squeal as her hand was jerked forward.

Before she knew what had happened, she was turned around and on the bed, one hand behind her back as Malfoy pressed into her, his other hand holding her as his arm was wrapped around and pressed against her throat. His body weight held her steadfastly to the mattress. "Where is your wand now, Granger?" he asked, his mouth directly next to her ear.

She struggled beneath his weight for only a second before he let her go and backed away from her. Hermione righted herself and flipped around, glaring at him. The blond had a cool smirk on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest. "That was unfair. I was caught off guard because I trust you."

Malfoy's brow twitched, and he clenched and unclenched his jaw. "Trust no one, Granger. Don't you remember what Moody used to tell us all the time? Constant vigilance. Assume everyone around you is suspect, by way of legitimate loyalty to the Dark Lord or the Imperius Curse."

Hermione felt foolish, having been shown up in a matter of two seconds by the slippery snake. He dropped his arms and leaned forward to take her hand, moving slowly as to not startle her once more. "Don't tuck your thumb. Instead, wrap it securely around your first two knuckles, like so," he instructed, maneuvering her hand so that it resembled a fist with her thumb around her knuckles.

She looked at her fist and then back up at him. "Tighter," he told her, squeezing over her hand with his larger one. "If you are going to hurt someone, you need to deliver a punch that is going to likely bruise or scrape your knuckles. You'll be less likely to break your fingers if you clench tightly."

Hermione did as instructed, clenching her fist until her knuckles turned white with the effort. "Good," he told her, backing away a pace. "Now hit me."

Her mouth fell open as she stared at him. "I'm not going to _hit_ you!"

His smirk deepened. "We can heal my face after."

"It's totally barbaric and I won't do it!" Hermione told him, aghast that he would even suggest such a thing.

Malfoy's eyes thinned to challenging little slits as he looked down his nose at her mischievously. He used the tips of his fingers to nudge her shoulder, somewhat harshly. "Why not, you filthy little Mudblood? Don't you want to know what some of my pure blood would feel like washing over your dirty flesh? Or are you afraid of what I could do to you—"

His taunts stopped when Hermione's fist made contact with his bottom lip, his face jerking to the side with the force of it. When she realized what she had done, Hermione's hand flew over her mouth in abject horror. "Oh, my gods, Draco! I didn't mean to hit you that hard!"

Malfoy righted himself, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick at the blood dripping from the split in his lip. The look he was giving her was one of…pride? His mouth formed a wide smile, his eyes closing briefly as his lip cracked even further. He ran a hand over his jaw, his fingertips over the split and it was gone. The blood and split removed and the swelling down with wandless magic. "Good girl," he praised, and it was clearly pride in his voice. "Again."

"No! I couldn't possibly—"

He nudged her again, causing her to lose balance and step back. "Come on, Mudblood, you swotty little bitch. Hit me again. Or shall I show you a thing or two about what we used to do to little muggle-born sows at revels?" he taunted, pushing her again.

And again, Hermione hauled off and hit him square in his face, the hatred at his sentiments blinding her momentarily. Her fist made contact with his nose and broke it with a sickening crunch. Both of her hands flew to her face as she took a step back. Some of Malfoy's precious pure blood was spewing from his nose as he whispered incantations and, this time, dragged his wand over it. "I am so sorry!" Hermione said, her voice cracking and tears springing forth in her eyes.

Malfoy looked up at her as he righted his nose, scourgifying all of the blood from his face, chest, hands and floor. "That, my darling," he said, stepping forward to take her hand, "is how to properly break a man's nose."

He turned her hand over in his, whispering the incantations to knit together the scrapes that had formed on her knuckles. Hermione had not even noticed the aching in her own hand until he brought it to his lips to kiss each knuckle in turn. "You need to be able to defend yourself without magic. You wouldn't be able to pull your wand on a muggle man. Or what if one of the Death Eaters disarmed you right away—a fat chance seeing how they would enjoy the fight you would put up. But still a possibility."

She had never given much thought to hand to hand combat. Her wand had always been there, but she knew he was correct in his line of thinking. How easy it would be for an opponent to disarm her quickly. "What about if he were to grab me?" she asked, picturing a scene not unlike the one Malfoy had just demonstrated on her where she was grabbed from behind by a man in a silver mask.

"Turn around," he instructed, moving his finger in a circular motion. "If I were going to sneak up behind you, I would likely muffle your screams. If I were to use magic this would be easy, but for a muggle, they would try to but their hand over your mouth."

Malfoy moved forward and wrapped one arm tightly around her arm and chest and the other clamped over her mouth. "If he has not lifted you off of the ground, you jab your heel as hard as you can into the top of his foot. Now, by cupping your mouth, I've left one of your hands free to attack me as well. Reach behind and try to pull on anything you can reach—an ear, hair, anything. Try walking backward to throw him off balance. The second you are able to get your arm completely free, thrust your elbow as hard as possible into his nose or if you can't get your arm that high, right into his stomach."

He let her mouth go, bringing his hand to rest lightly on her hip. "What if both of my arms are trapped?" she asked, her heart racing as Malfoy held her tightly against his chest.

"Drop your weight. It will be harder to regain control over your body physically if you drop to a crouching position below his center of gravity. Drop to your knees," he told her and she complied.

Though she did not go all the way down, her dead weight threw him off slightly and he leant down with her. "You're a tiny little thing, so he could probably pick you up again fairly quickly. But you've likely bought yourself enough time to elbow him in the groin—please don't demonstrate."

Hermione stood and turned around to where Malfoy had backed off. He was looking at her sternly, his face guarded. When he spoke, his tone was protective and possessive. "If someone tries to harm you, fight like hell, Granger. Perhaps we should work on your wandless magic some more."

Malfoy and she had spent some time in the dueling area. Her wandless magic was rusty and spotty, only working here or there. She had grown frustrated and her determination began faltering slightly under the pressure. But he never let her stop trying until she accomplished at least one significant wandless spell. His Occlumency lessons had left Hermione with a headache for days, but he was a patient instructor. She had learned more defense in a few months with him than she had in the last few years at Hogwarts.

The look he was giving her was one of admiration and pride. "You learn quickly. If we spend a few hours a day practicing, you could probably have it down in a month or less."

Hermione gave him a nod, wanting nothing more than for him to continue giving her private lessons. "How's your hand?" he asked her calmly, leaning back against his desk.

The witch flexed and bent her fingers, nothing but a dull ache in her first knuckle even letting her know she had made contact with his face. "Fine. Your face?"

His tongue darted out to glide along his lip and he smirked. "Never better."

They stared for a moment longer, Hermione feeling the heat rise in her chest as she faced his scrutiny and he finally leaned forward slightly on his legs, his hands cupping his knees as he leaned on the edge of the desk. "So, when are we going to stop pretending, then?" he asked suddenly.

"Pretending what?" she asked, her face scrunching in confusion as she tried to solve his riddle quickly.

"Like we don't want to fuck each other senseless," the wizard stated simply, as though he were merely commenting on the weather.

Hermione's mouth fell open as she gaped at him, unable to formulate a thought coherent enough to argue. Had she been that obvious in her stares from across the room, her playful banter around his cauldrons? Had he cherished their few stolen kisses as much as she after all? "I don't want…I mean—I don't think right now is an appropriate time, Draco."

He looked briefly at the floor, and when his eyes raised to meet hers once more, they were smoldering with an underlying passion and brokenness. "I know you want it just as badly. I've slept with enough girls to know when someone is attracted to me. You _kiss_ like you want me."

Her brain refused to formulate an argument against that, so instead she spoke slowly and logically. "We're in the middle of a War right now. We could have died the last couple of days."

"We could die tomorrow, Granger. Or next week, on our next mission. We _are_ in the middle of a war, but dammit, why can't we give in to what we _want_? Just be twenty for once? What are you afraid of?" he demanded quietly.

Hermione was terrified of every little aspect of what he was proposing. If she gave into his words, she could get hurt beyond belief. She could become attached too readily—hell, she already was. He could lose interest in her or withdraw into himself as he so often did. Or worse, one of them could die and leave the other behind. The witch had no idea what she would do if she fell in love with the man and then lost him. She was not stupid enough to believe that they could just have unattached sex—there was too much mutual respect and attraction built between them.

"If we died six months from now, wouldn't you prefer to die knowing someone loved you with their whole heart? Instead of dying alone and guarded because of fear? Or is it because it's me?" he asked her quietly, his features turning morose as some demon from his past came forth to haunt his mind.

Hermione thought about his words carefully. He was confessing to her that he wished to give her his heart, not just a quick romp in his bed. She knew he was lonesome, just as she was. He kept the others at an arm's distance, never letting anyone close to him. The others had been wary of him at first, but once he had proven his loyalty to their cause by laying his life on the line time and again, they had been trying to get him to open up and trust them. Malfoy was complex and enjoyed his solitude, but he never shied away from Hermione's company, never passed up the opportunity to bicker with her for the hell of it.

In the midst of a War, could she allow herself to get lost in someone else? Could she hand her fragile heart to someone, hoping he would keep it safe and cherish it? Hermione looked at where he was eyeing her, calmly awaiting her response. Ron had Lavender and Harry had Ginny. Why couldn't she allow herself someone to cherish, while she was alive to do it? Butterflies danced in her belly and her heart beat somewhere at the base of her throat, choking her up as she took three steps forward to stand in front of him.

Uncertain, Hermione placed her hands on his shoulders, brushing them along his warm skin to rest at the base of his neck. "Look at me," she said gently, nudging his face so he would look at her. "It has nothing to do with you. I'm just—"

Hermione's voice cracked as she tried to convey the warring emotions in her mind accurately. "I'm frightened. Because I know that the second I fall in love with you, you'll be torn from me. And I don't," she swallowed, "I don't think I could live with that."

"Granger, that's a chance that everyone takes. Even if we weren't in a war, I could get hit by a muggle auto just walking down the street. I think the danger surrounding us makes it all the more important to hold close that which is dear to us. I just want a chance. I know I fucked up when we were in school. But I have apologized time and again for that," he said, his voice low but his words forced.

"Draco," Hermione was at a loss for words, her brain being logical but her heart telling her to go for it.

"I just want to forget this blasted War for a while. I want to spend time with a beautiful witch and talk about literature and potions and the stars. And I want to spend time getting lost in one another, shed the anger and the resentment and the angst and feel love and contentment. Even for a few brief moments, Granger," Malfoy said earnestly.

Hermione brought her lips to his, her heart winning the battle of wills with her brain. Malfoy seemed genuinely surprised for a moment before he placed his hands on either of her hips and pulled her to stand between his knees. He pushed as she pulled, their mouths creating a quick and delicate dance as his tongue licked at her bottom lip. Allowing him to deepen the kiss, she brought her hands to the nape of his neck, his impossibly soft hair gliding between her fingers.

His hands slid from her hips to under the Slytherin jumper he had lent her. His hands were soft and warm, burning her up as they roamed over her skin. She broke the kiss to pull the jumper over her head, tossing it on the floor beside them as she leaned over him, bracing herself on one hand on the desk's edge. Bare underneath, her chest brushed against his as he placed wet, open-mouthed kisses down her throat.

When Malfoy pulled back slightly he looked down between them, drinking in the sight of her before his face fell into a frown. "Merlin, Hermione…I had no idea," he whispered, tracing his finger along the many scars that marred her body.

He touched the deep gash in her shoulder that Dolohov's curse had left in fifth year before trickling his fingers over the others she had gained in the years since. He pulled her back so he could lean down to pepper kisses along Dolohov's scar. When he finished, he brought his lips back to hers forcefully, seemingly trying to convey every feeling he had, every reassurance he could muster into that one kiss.

Hermione wrapped her arms securely around his shoulders, the feeling of his strong ones curling around her, a respite from the bitter loneliness she had felt to this point. Malfoy was here, he was right in front of her and he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. Merlin help her, she was going to give into him, get lost in his kisses, his caresses, his passions. He rose from the edge of the table, backing her toward his bed.

When her legs hit the edge, she broke the kiss as she toppled clumsily back into the bedding, his lips on hers before she had the chance to finish her bounce into the mattress. He stood at the bed's edge, leaning over her on one hand, his other roaming every inch of skin visible to him at this point. He massaged and kneaded one breast and then the other, pausing to pinch the taut peak roughly. Hermione let out a whimper at the back of her throat at the feel, clenching her knees tighter into his hips as he dragged his mouth away from hers. His every touch, every caress was making her feel positively reckless with wanton abandon.

His lips landed on the swell at the top of her left breast and he began to suck, hard enough to draw blood to the surface in a crude love bite. They continued their path to her nipple, his teeth grazing over it as he gave it a less-than-gentle nip. The mixture of pain with pleasure was something Hermione had never experienced, and never knew she needed. But Malfoy's ministrations on her body matched the way he did anything else in life—carefully, thoughtfully, but with a sharp edge that would bring her to ruin.

Her fingernails raked over the skin of his back, careful to avoid his bandaged shoulder. His hips ground into hers from where he stood, firm as steel every time he pressed into her. Leaving trails of bites and bruises with his mouth, he finally pulled away to catch his breath for a moment, looking down at her. For every mark and rough act, there was a tenderly sweet moment with him. Malfoy used a single fingertip to delicately brush her curls away from her forehead. "I've wanted you for a long time. Longer than just the last six months," he told her, his hands running from her neck, over her breasts and down over her hips.

Hermione responded to that by turning her face to kiss his forearm, the brightly colored and softened mermaid scales where his Mark once burned. Her legs wrapped around him, her heel running down the back of his thigh. "I need to fuck you," he told her, his lips close to her as he suckled at a spot just below her ear. "Now."

"Then do it," came her response, a challenge that he couldn't refuse.

Malfoy stood back long enough to pull her bottoms off somewhat harshly, tossing them dangerously close to the fire in his haste. She had only a brief moment to register that she was completely bared to the wizard before he thrust his own bottoms off quickly, letting a slight groan of anticipation slip between his lips as the fabric scraped along his cock.

Bringing his hand to play between them, his lips met hers once more. He bit her bottom lip to gain access and pressed into her mouth with an intensity that made her whimper. Hermione's eyes clenched as her toes curled, her heels digging into his lower back, the feel of his fingers in her making her to moan into his mouth. "What do you want, Granger?" he asked, kissing hungrily down the column of her throat.

The witch could barely think, let alone speak, so she answered by rolling her hips into his hand, silently begging for more. With a grunt, Malfoy pulled away, his hand leaving her body to cup her jaw. "No. I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want."

"M-more," she stuttered, desperate for the feel of him touching her once more.

"What do you want me to do to you?" he asked, grabbing ahold of her hips to pull her closer to the edge of the bed.

She hummed in response and he glared down at her. "Say. It," he hissed through clenched teeth, aligning with her and running along her slick entrance.

Hermione used her newly discovered fist to pop his bicep. "Quit teasing and fuck me, Malfoy," she gritted out.

A sly grin graced his features as he pressed into her, a groan escaping his lips as they both sighed at the feel of their connection. "No reason to get bossy, love," he told her cheekily, his grin impossibly sexy as he traced the side of her face with the tips of his fingers.

"You prat," she swatted at him, laughing as she enjoyed the deep rumbles of his own laughter echoing through her chest.

The blond picked up his pace, rising to stand as he smoothed his palms over her thighs where they wrapped tightly around his waist. She cupped one hand over her eyes as her entire body began to ignite, embarrassed to allow him to see her so vulnerable, to see just how his touch affected her. Malfoy brought his hand to her wrist and pried her hand away from her face. "No. Look at me as you come. I want you to see who made you feel this way."

Unable to deny him anything his velvety smooth voice ever asked for, she did as she was told, opening her eyes to look up at him. He smirked down at her before leaned over her, pivoting his hips in a way that replaced his hand in brushing over her with each thrust. "Does this feel good?" he asked, close to her ear, his breath washing over her in shallow pants.

"Yes," she managed to breathe as her entire body, tingling and alight with pleasure, began to quake beneath him.

"I want to fuck you this way every day for the rest of my pathetic life, Hermione," his silken voice hissed into her ear, his hand resuming its path along her slick skin as she shook around him.

As she climaxed, a series of broken _ooh's_ left her lips, which Malfoy swallowed down by pressing his lips to hers bruisingly. His fingers pressed harshly into her hips and arse as his own snapped into her, her body scooting back along the bed a fraction, only to be pulled back by his firm grasp over and over again. Their skin was slippery between them as she arched into him and pulled him ever closer, craving a closeness with him. He reached his own peak, a growl sounding at the back of his throat as he did.

Malfoy's mouth left hers finally, his forehead resting against the shoulder where the offending jagged scar marred her skin. One arm snaked around her back to press her close to himself, the other brushing a damp curl from her face as he lifted his eyes to look down at her. After his rough, fiery way of having sex, his touches became tender, loving, comforting. "I want you to stay with me," he whispered, gently placing a kiss to her lips.

Hermione pushed his fringe from his forehead and curled her other hand around his arm where his Mark once rested. "Malfoy, this is insane. Us."

"Tell me that didn't just solidify the fact that it should be _us_ ," he challenged lightly, to which she remained silent. "I want you, Granger. Stay with me."

At that moment, Hermione realized he didn't just mean for the evening or the night. Malfoy wanted her to remain by his side indefinitely. He needed her company and her strength every bit as she needed his. Despite the stone that dropped into her heart at the thought of losing him to the War, of falling in love only to have her heart broken by his absence, she pulled him in for a sweet, reassuring kiss.

Malfoy pulled away from her and pulled the handmade quilt away from the pillow, turning the bed down for her to climb inside. He saddled in next to her, turning on his side and placing his head to her chest. His thumb ran lazy circles over her bare abdomen as he brushed his lips along her skin every so often.

"'Mione?" Harry's voice sounded in the hall. "Oh, what the hell, why is the floor all wet?"

"Go away," Malfoy called, groaning in agitation.

"Is Hermione in there with you?" the raven-haired wizard asked.

Malfoy gave her a sly smile as he pulled the blanket over his head and dipped down to plant a trail of kisses between her breasts and straight down her abdomen. His fingers dug playfully into her sides, his tickling eliciting a high-pitched keen from her. "Yeah, Potter, I'd say she's in here," Malfoy called back, letting out a deep rumbling laugh as she swatted him.

"Hermione?! What the hell are you—Oh, my God!" Harry screeched, understanding hitting him like a ton of bricks.

They heard his booming footsteps as he retreated down the corridor. "We've got about two seconds before Ron comes back," Hermione sighed.

"Fuck him. You're mine now," Malfoy replied, kissing the inside of one thigh before giving her a gentle bite.

o-o-o

**Author's Note:**

> This is a future scene in His Sweet Oleander


End file.
